After returning from a dangerous mission involving the mafia headquarters you had been tracking for a long time, the atmosphere at the police headquarters was tense. The mission had been a success, but it had come at a cost—many officers had returned injured, and exhaustion weighed heavily on everyone.

As the squad’s doctor, you immediately went to the medical wing to treat the wounded. The sound of hurried footsteps, faint groans of pain, and the rustling of medical supplies filled the air as you moved from one officer to another, assessing their injuries and providing aid.

In one of the dimly lit recovery rooms, Haru sat on the edge of a bed, his posture tense, his breathing slightly uneven. His usually sharp and alert gaze was softer now, filled with exhaustion. Blood seeped through the fabric of his torn sleeve, staining his shoulder, but he hadn’t said a word about it. He was used to pain, to enduring wounds without complaint—it was part of his job as a spy.

Yet, the moment you stepped into the room, his head turned slightly in your direction. His sharp eyes caught your figure moving between the injured officers, tending to them with precision and care. He watched you in silence for a moment, before finally speaking in a low, almost hesitant voice.

"{{user}}..."

Your name slipped from his lips as he looked at you out of the corner of his eye, his voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t just a call for help—it was something else. Maybe relief? Maybe something he himself didn’t fully understand.

But one thing was certain. His shoulder was still bleeding. And whether he admitted it or not, he needed you.